I'm a writer... who knew?

I readily admit that I'm a writer. Saying that, I've had a few people roll their eyes and walk away. What could possibly be wrong with being a writer? Is it because writer's are quirky people? I don't consider myself any stranger than the next person.


Maybe there is truth in the thought. And maybe, just maybe you're as strange... well, unique as I am.


Let's take a look at the following evidence:

I talk about my characters enough people think they're real, and my children (when they were younger) thought they were distant relatives.

I carry on multiple conversations in my head, and sometimes aloud and think I'm normal.

Family and friends don't ask how my writing is going because they fear the barrage of details from my latest work in progress (WIP).

People don't care to play scrabble or word games with me and my children call me the Walking Dictionary. ( I prefer Thesaurus)

I edit published books, newspapers, magazines and letters just for the fun of it.

I have been known to say, "Are you kidding me? They published this? I can write better than that."

My characters are known to have cleaner houses than I do, of course they have maids... (just saying)

My children wonder if the characters in my stories are my favorite children. (again when they were younger, time and experience has merited their fears now)

It looks like I laugh and cry or get angry at the dumbest things, when I'm really working out a storyline in my head.

I take day trips to new world's all without leaving my chair.

I've answered the door with my hair askew and wearing my ratty t-shirt and black and white scotty print pajama bottoms too many times to mention. (Scotty prints have shredded now wearing red with white polar bears) I don't even worry about the funny looks anymore.

Getting dressed is sometimes as much as putting on my bra.

Lunch meat and PBJ's are food staples when I'm in writing mode.

I seemed to be enamored with blank paper and blank computer screens.

Thrifty as I am, I buy pencils and paper every year at school time, even though I have boxes already.

I have several notebooks by my bed incase imagination lightning strikes and I need to write something down in the wee hours of the morning.

I bought a pair of glasses with attached lights so my spouse wouldn't complain about the light when I wrote in bed. (I rarely wear said lights because they weren't small enough)

Arguments, are fodder for character conflict.

Given some of my research topics, I am surprised I haven't been visited by homeland security.

Family and friends are afraid they'll be the model for my next serial killer character.

Several letters on my computer are worn, the 'H' key disappeared completely.

I study people and listen to private conversations, discreetly of course.

I've taken pictures of people who look like my characters.

I've traveled to places just for research. Like up and back on the Oregon trail, stopping at the forts and history museums when I could.

I know several ways to kill someone and I'm gentle as a lamb (maawaa ha ha)

I write scenes on napkins, receipts, and any scrap of paper handy (even the offering envelope).

I like to use # 3 pencils and collage-ruled paper when I write.

I have been deep enough in thought my children moved me and my rolling chair from one point in my office to another. Clapping and snapping doesn't always get my attention anymore. Thankfully, they haven't resorted to dumping cold water on my head. ( although they have used spray bottles)

Well there you have it... I rest my case. I have enough evidence to write book. :-)

I am a writer... who knew?